


The First Time

by RubyFiamma



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 8059, 8059 week, Angst, Biting, Blood and Injury, Bruising, Day 7 Prompt "Coming Home", Graphic Description, M/M, Marking, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera wakes up at 4 am to Yamamoto home two weeks earlier than when he was due back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 , Prompt "Coming Home"
> 
> Second entry for this prompt as I realise the first one may not be read by many BUT I still couldn't stay away from angst on this one. Although it came out weird in my opinion. Anyway, enjoy.

**The First Time**

* * *

 

Gokudera had been asleep when he first heard the sound of running water in the bathroom. It's the shower spray, he discovers, and not the tap. Not like the type of water matters, _someone is in his bathroom_.  He's opening his bleary eyes, blinking interrupted sleep away before turning over to check the clock on the bedside table. Its offensive red glare burns his eyes at first and he can only see blur before several attempts at blinking give way to the actual time.

It's 3:41, and now Gokudera's more curious and excited than suspicious because age has taught him restraint, to think before acting. He talks like he's aged thirty years when he isn't quite twenty yet, but admitting that is more feasible than admitting the likelihood of it's just the baseball idiot rubbing off on him.

He and Yamamoto don't actually live _together_ , though this new apartment was bought big enough to accommodate the both of them and Yamamoto spends more time here than he does anywhere else. Gokudera's just not ready to accept they've taken that step. Whether or not they live together isn't the problem right now, though. Yamamoto has been away for the past two weeks on an assignment with the Varia and wasn't due home for another two. He has a key and Gokudera doesn't suspect a burglar or potential threat broke in to use his bathroom. The clock now reads 3:42 and enough time has passed that the idea of Yamamoto coming home early has settled in to his veins and it spikes adrenaline right into his blood. Without hesitation, Gokudera's bolting out of bed and making a beeline for the bathroom. Yamamoto's been gone for too long and Gokudera doesn't bother trying to hide that he's missed him.

The door is open, flooding florescent light into the hallway and Gokudera can see tendrils of steam curling around the door frame. He doesn't announce himself, he wants it to be a surprise, so Gokudera steps into the bathroom and the first thing he sees is that Yamamoto's back is to him, made more defined and muscular in the years passed. His forehead is resting against the ceramic tile and Gokudera can't see much else through the fogged up glass box. The first thing Gokudera's thinking of is peeling off his boxers, joining Yamamoto in the shower and sinking his teeth into the knobs of muscle in Yamamoto's shoulders, splaying out his fingers over the bevels in his torso, having the familiar and comforting radiance of the other soaking into his skin. Gokudera's just about to act on his fantasy, when his bare feet nudge the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor. He looks down instinctively and simultaneously he can _feel_ all the colour drain from his face. The floor seems to shift underneath him, he's wavering on his feet when his knees lock and heavy dread churns in his stomach like thick sewer sludge.

There's blood, a _lot_ of blood, enough to be visible on the majority of Yamamoto's clothing. It's soaked through and spattered all over a pale blue t-shirt and Gokudera picks it up for inspection. He's looking for tears or holes in the fabric, for any indication that Yamamoto had been hurt, but he finds none. He wants to sigh relief but questions about the blood _everywhere_ have already begun stewing. There's fresh droplets, splattered on the tile floor like they've hit the ground at high velocity, and Gokudera suspects they've come from injuries Yamamoto _must've_ sustained recently. Then there's congealed blood, flaked off and rusted brown like it's days old and there's trailing spirals of coral-coloured blood, blooming in their sink like watercolour carnations. Gokudera's heart is _racing,_ there's too much of it and he's no stranger to macabre scenes, and all this blood coming from one person can't be good. He's terrified, it's irrational, because Yamamoto is right in front of him and he looks just  _fine_ but everything in front of him is proof enough that Gokudera could have lost him, that Yamamoto might not have made it home this time and the idea hits him so hard it knocks the wind right out of him. 

He drops the shirt, lets his fingers trail over the remains clothing as he tries to choke down the jagged lump forming in his throat. There's mud and dirt caked on Yamamoto's jeans, they're torn at the pockets and stained with streaks of green and there's evidence of only _one_ shoe. Gokudera's blood is going cold and he feels his entire body begin to shake, despite the heat filling inside the bathroom. The realisation that Yamamoto could have died, may have even come _close_ to dying and that Gokudera wasn't there to watch his back has Gokudera trembling uncontrollably, has him feeling so sick to his stomach he has to repress the urge to throw up.  He's getting to his feet with the sudden cognizance that this is Yamamoto's first time seeing _real_ death and not just death, but _murder_ _,_ regardless if it's been justified or not; it's the act of killing another human being and he _never_ wanted Yamamoto to have to see that if he could help it. And suddenly Gokudera has this sinking feeling that bristles the hairs on the back of his neck. What if it isn't something Yamamoto witnessed but experienced first hand, there's too much blood, too many signs of a battle. What if this was Yamamoto's first _kill_. What if Yamamoto had to kill more than just one person, what if he had to do it to save someone's life or worse, to save his own life. The Varia don't play by the rules, and the Tenth is no where near able to control their actions as of yet, and they're all a bunch of bloodthirsty vigilantes that are _nothing_ like the Primo guardians. He's furious, he _trusted_ that shark to look out for Yamamoto and they may not have had some stupid spoken agreement but family is supposed to look out for one another and this is in _no_ _way_ going to make Yamamoto a better swordsman. He could have gotten _killed_ and it isn't like Gokudera doesn't trust in the other's abilities -- because he does; Yamamoto is better than all the swordsmen he's ever come in contact with, including Squalo, but it doesn't make Gokudera feel right. It makes him feel anxious and guilt ridden, makes him feel useless and _afraid_ of losing someone and this kind of fear is the very core of why Gokudera's spent so many years building up walls around him and keeping everyone at arms length.

He pushes the soiled clothes aside, squints through the fog and he can barely see anything but the outline of Yamamoto in the shower. Gokudera's been here for at least two minutes and it's unlike Yamamoto's senses to be so out of tune that they don't pick up on a presence behind him, unless they're otherwise dulled by preoccupance. And it's _what_ Yamamoto's thinking about that has him worried. So Gokudera doesn't say anything when he strips himself of his boxers and carefully opens the shower door. Before stepping inside, he sees the water collected around Yamamoto's feet is running clear of a muddied maroon. The sight lurches Gokudera's stomach, makes him feel like he's going to have one of his familiar fainting spells he gets when his sister is around but he focuses in on Yamamoto's slumped shoulders, the other's head still settled against the tile and Gokudera's able to stabilise himself. There are rivulets of red dirtying the gold of Yamamoto's skin, streaming down the line of his spine and for a minute Gokudera's _livid_ , with this life and the Varia, himself and all that has ever interfered with Yamamoto's happiness.

He's behind Yamamoto now, the steam ravelling around his body and sticking to his skin, and he's hesitant when he reaches out, because he isn't sure what he should say or do. So, "Takeshi?" is what he settles on, his voice so unnaturally soft he's not even sure it'll carry over the sound of the shower spray. Gokudera's doesn't think Yamamoto hears him anyway, he doesn't turn at the sound of his name, he doesn't even _move_ _._ So Gokudera touches his shoulder at the same time he leans in to press his lips to Yamamoto's neck and the other suddenly _flinches_ _,_ jumps like he's being threatened and not like he's startled.

Gokudera snaps his hand back like he's been burned, and it feels like he is, because his skin is searing with prickling heat and drawn taut with with inexplicable embarrassment. When Yamamoto turns his head, slow and slight so Gokudera is only able to catch a side profile, his pulse picks up rapidly and his stomach drops like he's falling off a ledge of a skyscraper, plummeting at an illogical speed because the gravitational pull is too great.

"Takeshi?" leaves his mouth, unintentionally in a hushed whisper, questioning, like who Gokudera sees in front of him isn't the man he's been with for the last six years of his life.

Yamamoto's eyes are dark, the gold nearly consumed by shadow and his expression is hard. Gokudera has only ever seen this face when Yamamoto is fighting; when his friends are in danger or hurt.  He's glaring at Gokudera, his lips pressed thin and unsmiling and when Gokudera refuses to turn away under the scrutiny of the other's gaze, Yamamoto pushes off the wall so he's standing tall and intimidating, making Gokudera shrink back like he's a small and insignificant insect up against an impossible adversary. His heart is beating against his chest with enough force that it feels like it's going to break through the confines of his rib cage. It  _aches,_ and he can't breathe and when Gokudera finally manages to tear his eyes away from deadlock stare of the man in front of him, they settle in on the rest of Yamamoto's face and it's then that he can feel his eyes blow instantly wide because it's then that he notices the _fresh_ but all too future-familiar gash at the bottom of Yamamoto's chin.

His stomach keeps dropping like there's no such thing as gravity, and his thoughts are whirling around so much that he can't think straight. This is the future they worked so hard to stop coming to fruition, this is destiny catching up with them and trying to fix what was clearly meant to be. A future where the Tenth dies and Yamamoto's father dies _,_ Yamamoto becomes jaded and Gokudera fails at everything. This is the future that isn't supposed to happen, they fixed all that and Yamamoto is _supposed_ to be his stupidly happy baseball idiot; not a killer, not _this_ man, and everything is _supposed_ to be alright.

Gokudera opens his mouth to say something, maybe ask what happened to him, maybe to remind Yamamoto that he's _home_ and that Gokudera missed him, _loves_ him even, because there's no warmth and comfort in the other's eyes, there's no familiar smile waiting for him at Yamamoto's mouth.

But he swallows hard instead, falls forward in the same instant Yamamoto's hands drive up into his hair. He's grabbing fistfuls and tugging hard at the crown of Gokudera's head, dragging it back and then Yamamoto's lips are crushing against his, so forcefully that their teeth clack together and Gokudera can taste the bitter astringency of blood on the back of his tongue. He's clutching Yamamoto's wrists, digging his nails into the flesh and whimpering against the other's mouth. Gokudera doesn't push Yamamoto away, instead he reaches for Yamamoto's hair to drag him down and in, closer so he can line himself along the contour of the other's body. Yamamoto capitulates, as easy and compliant as he always is, but he's rough and jerky in his movements, like he can't get a satisfying enough taste off Gokudera's tongue. He's turning Gokudera around, forcing him under the spray of the hot water and the water feels good against Gokudera's chilled flesh. The tension is easily melting out of his shoulders, the warmth of Yamamoto's mouth is pouring serenity into his veins and the ferocious desperation in both their movements is enough to have Gokudera's mind slipping elsewhere, forgetting the questions he has of the events that took place to have lead Yamamoto home two weeks early, at four in the morning and covered in blood.

He's pulling back at Yamamoto's hair, scrabbling at the strands each time his fingers begin to slip free, and lashing his tongue around the inside of Yamamoto's mouth with just as much fervor. Gokudera can't focus, not now, not when Yamamoto's hand skidders down his chest, not when Yamamoto's fingers are curling around his half-hard cock and stroking up without skipping a beat. Gokudera loses himself then, has to break away to gasp a breath, and Yamamoto's mouth moves to his neck with a snarl. He's pressing his lips to the curve of Gokudera's throat, _hard_ like gentle just won't do, licking fire against his skin and Gokudera blurts " _Fuck_ _,_ " when Yamamoto drags his thumbnail up the underside of his shaft, breathes, " _God_ Takeshi, I _ah_ \--" but the end is lost to a sharp hiss when Yamamoto _bites_ him like it's a deliberate warning to keep his mouth shut. Gokudera wants to say _I missed you_  but it doesn't seem like it's the right moment, like the words would be lost in the sound of the water that fills the shower stall and the heavy pants that fill the silence. As if they'd be wasted on Yamamoto right now anyway. So he says nothing, save for the cry he elicits when two of Yamamoto's fingers enter him without warning. Perhaps there had been, but Gokudera's haze has become as thick as the steam around them and his entire body has gone loose and lax, like he's become as soft and malleable as lithium. Yamamoto's mouth keeps sucking at his throat; his teeth kneading and pinching skin like his only intention is to call forth the blood in Gokudera's veins to the surface, to paint an array of abstract reds, blues and purples across the pale backdrop of Gokudera's skin. It's making him light on his feet, making his knees buckle and the room begins to spin because he can't breathe in enough oxygen.

"Fuck," he's panting, repeating the word in short-burst intervals like it's the only word he knows. Gokudera's spreading his legs further apart for easier access and leaning against Yamamoto's chest for support. His insides are burning with the friction, the only lubricant to make the movement just a little less painful is the water that's collected at the dip of his spine and trickling down the cleft of his ass. Yamamoto's fingers are pushing deeper, the hand on his cock is moving faster and Gokudera can't even breathe an approximate a syllable of the other's name coherently. He _needs_ this, as much as Yamamoto does, this raw and carnal lust is certainly coming from something much more deep and underlying, it's not just physical attraction or the too - long absence from one another. It's more than that, like the need to touch and feel each other is too overwhelming for just words, and that they're both too desperate to hastily carve each other's existence into their memories because the imminent possibility that either one of them could be gone tomorrow lingers over their heads like a raging storm cloud.

There's so much sweltering heat surging through his blood and for a moment Gokudera can't decide if he wants to rock up into Yamamoto's hand or slide down on to the other's fingers. Either way, the sensation of being stretched raw and the dull ache of bruising are mixing with the overwhelming pleasure mounting high in his gut and it's too much, Gokudera submits to the wave of pleasure that washes over him, spills hot overflow into Yamamoto's hand. He wants to take a minute to collect himself and recover, give himself time to stop wavering on his feet but Yamamoto is lightning quick when he grabs Gokudera under his arms and hoists him up in too swift of a motion that leaves Gokudera scrabbling to catch a grip on Yamamoto's slick shoulders and racing to hook his legs around Yamamoto's waist. He shoves Gokudera against the wall and Gokudera's head hits off the tile, momentarily blacking out his vision but when he comes to, Gokudera doesn't protest because he's too busy choking on panic yet still too dazed to form his mouth around a coherent word. He's looking at Yamamoto for some kind of explanation but all he catches are the flecks of gold in the thin rings of the other's eyes, gleaming sharp like gilded shards of glass. Gokudera doesn't recognise them, but he isn't given time to ponder, because he's sliding down the tile when the other's grip goes from under his arms but then Yamamoto's hands are catching at his hips. He's sinking down on Yamamoto's cock and the sensation of being open-wide and full ignites fire into his blood and sparks a cry that bursts from Gokudera's throat. Yamamoto doesn't say anything, doesn't even make a sound when he leans forward and begins thrusting. His breath is heavy, hot on Gokudera's neck and his movement doesn't have a rhythm. It's not really slow, it's not really sensual, Yamamoto's guiding his hips in the direction needed for his satisfaction, using the condensation on the wall to easily glide Gokudera up and down on his shaft and Gokudera's not even sure he minds.

For several minutes Gokudera can't think at all, all processes stall out and there's just the pressure of Yamamoto's cock driving deeper inside him and the aching pull in his spine from being suspended in the air with only his hands grasping at Yamamoto's thick hair and he's groaning " _Takeshi_ _,_ " repeatedly, like the name's been permanently scrawled in ink across his tongue. Gokudera's head is spinning, all the adrenaline bursting through his veins is rushing to his cock and he can feel himself getting hard again.

Yamamoto's hands start to slip under his thighs, his fingers crushing blue pressure into the flesh, and then he's hooking Gokudera's legs over his arms, bending his knees to support both their weight. It doesn't help much, Gokudera's body is taut with focus, but each thrust is giving way to sensation, sparking electricity up Gokudera's spine and finally he's at an angle where he can dip in and mesh their mouths together. Yamamoto pauses only for a moment, long enough for his tongue to scorch the surface of Gokudera's lips and then his movements become erratic, he's fucking harder rather than faster and Gokudera's seeing vivid stars gone supernova on every other thrust. The last one is no different, he's so deep that Gokudera can almost taste the salt-flat of him at the back of his throat. Yamamoto's body is flexing tense as he tips forward, pressing Gokudera harder into the wall and when there's no space left between them, Gokudera gasps, "I love you," and Yamamoto finally breaks.

" _Hayato_ ," he exhales and in quick succession, Yamamoto's cock is pulsing liquid heat inside him. Gokudera's not sure if it's his name uttered by the other or if it's the hot fill of come spilling down his thighs that has him succumbing to the overthrow of orgasm, spraying over his chest for the second time, but either way he's being drowned in surging pleasure, falling further and further away from lucidity that he forgets he's being held up by Yamamoto entirely.

Gokudera doesn't come around for a minute or two, not until he notices the numbness in his legs is starting to become painful and that there's a wet sobbing sound at his shoulder. He's being let down carefully, far more gentle than Yamamoto has been since Gokudera entered the shower, and he's sinking to his knees because his legs aren't stable enough to hold his weight yet. Gokudera doesn't let go of Yamamoto, he drags the other down to the shower floor where the water has become tepid from running for so long. Yamamoto lets himself be led, and it isn't until he throws his arms around Gokudera's shoulders does Gokudera realise Yamamoto is crying.

"Hayato," he's sobbing, broken and barely a whisper, and he keeps repeating Gokudera's name in disbelief, like he's unsure he's really home and that Gokudera's really here. Yamamoto's fingers are curling through his hair, grasping desperately tight, like he's afraid Gokudera will cease to exist and slip through his fingers in a swirl of smoke.

Gokudera knows it's not going to be a long night, that perhaps they might talk about this tomorrow, after he's had a chance to get Yamamoto hushed and into bed, right where he belongs. He doesn't bother to ask Yamamoto about things now, instead Gokudera cards his fingers through Yamamoto's hair under the lukewarm water, presses a kiss to the other's forehead and lets Yamamoto cry against his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're home," Gokudera does say, knowing these words are far more heavily weighted than just the common pleasantry. He can feel Yamamoto nod against his neck, his sobs have eased into sniffles and hiccups and Gokudera has to let him go, just long enough to reach over to grab the shampoo and the soap. He spills some into the palm of his hand and lathers it through Yamamoto's hair, rinses the dirt and grime of bad memories away and by the time he's finished the water's gone frigid. 

Gokudera manages to get himself and Yamamoto to their feet, and they're both shaky and shivering when they step out of the shower. He grabs the only towel in the bathroom and uses it to dry off Yamamoto first, scrubs it through his hair and when he catches Yamamoto's gaze it's softer now, still less than himself but Gokudera will take it. He tips his head up, presses a kiss to Yamamoto's mouth and he can feel the subtle smile that shapes Yamamoto's lips. 

"I _really_ love you," Yamamoto whispers, framing Gokudera's face and sliding his thumbs across Gokudera's cheeks.  His voice is wavering and Gokudera can tell he's on the verge of tears again. 

"I know," Gokudera says as he takes Yamamoto's hand and leads them out of the bathroom, down the hall to their bedroom. "I really love you too."

 

 


End file.
